


Forts of Stone

by temporarily_lost_at_sea



Category: Sharpe (TV), Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:56:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporarily_lost_at_sea/pseuds/temporarily_lost_at_sea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leading a big military campaign can get rather tedious. Luckily, the Duke of Wellington has found an excellent way to keep himself entertained, with a little game he calls "Tormenting Sharpe". As Captain Will Laurence of the Aerial Corps, a convicted traitor recently pardoned, arrives from Australia, Wellington finds a way to take the game to new heights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forts of Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astheradioplays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astheradioplays/gifts).



> I know this is not at all what you asked for, my dear, but I hope you'll like it anyway:)
> 
> (Also; the title is horrible, I'll change it as soon as I think of something better.)

”Well,” said Wellington, pouring over Nairn’s report again; a Spanish fort, currently held by the French, that would be useful as the British army moved further towards the French borders. “This looks like a job for Sharpe and his men.”

“Precisely my thought, sir,” Nairn answered. “Shall I summon him?”

Wellington nodded absently, rummaging through the papers on his desk.

“Tell me, Nairn, do you not think that this mission would benefit from some aerial support?”

Aerial support seemed rather superfluous for such a simple action, but since Wellington was an acknowledged military strategist and Nairn was not, he merely said

“Aerial support, sir?”

“Yes, aerial support, Nairn.” Wellington said, fishing out a paper from the pile of letters, reports and maps that cluttered his desk. “Did not Captain Laurence come in yesterday?”

Nairn frowned. 

“The traitor with the Chinese beast, sir?”

“The very same,” Wellington nodded, looking almost triumphant as he poured over the document; a report on some absurd event in Sydney, involving Chinese tradesmen, sea serpents, a military rebellion and, of course, Captain Laurence. “I have long thought that he and Major Sharpe ought to meet. I think they would both have great joy of an acquaintance.”

“Very well, sir,” Nairn said, though he privately thought that the only one who would have any joy of such an acquaintance was Wellington himself. “I will tell Sharpe.”

-

Sharpe had received his new orders and was just about to leave the tent and tell Harper, when Wellington asked him:

“Are you familiar with Captain Laurence of the Aerial Corps, Sharpe?”

He recognized the name, but had to think for a while before he realized where he’d heard it.

“The traitor?”

“Yes, though he has been restored to the service. He will be in charge of this mission.”

Sharpe looked incredulously at Wellington. After all the incompetent officers Wellington had saddled him with, now he wanted him to work with a convicted traitor? And to do what, capture a frog fort? The 95th Rifles had never needed aerial support to take a fort before. Still, he had learned by now it was no use arguing with Wellington, so he bit back his first retort and said instead: 

“Is that safe, sir? To take him so close to the French? What if he tries to desert?”

Wellington shook his head, looking a little too excited in Sharpe’s opinion.

“Haven’t you heard the story, Sharpe? He brought the dragon medicine to France, refused Bonaparte’s thanks and returned to England to hang. Would you take such a man for a deserter, Sharpe?”

“No, sir, I’d take him for a bloody fool.”

Wellington snorted.

“He’s an idealist, Sharpe, a romantic. I think the two of you will get along excellently. I’d be more worried about his beast if I were you, he’s a proper Jacobin that one.”

“The beast, sir?” Sharpe said, certain he had misunderstood. Surely a dumb beast could not be a revolutionary?

“Yes, the beast, Sharpe.” Wellington waved his hand dismissively. “Now be off with you.”

-

Sharpe had not had much dealings with aviators, but the ones he had met, he’d rather liked. The beasts were fearsome creatures and he didn’t mind admitting it, but their riders were usually a likeable lot. A bit eccentric, to be sure, but much more easy going than most other officers. 

This particular aviator, however, Sharpe decided as soon as he caught sight of him, he did not like. Though a bit travel stained and worn, his coat was carefully buttoned and even in the Spanish heat his neckcloth was impeccably crisp. He was eyeing Sharpe’s unbuttoned coat and open shirt with a well disguised but not indiscernible mix of disapproval and outrage.

“So,” Sharpe said by way of greeting, “Wellington tells me you’re a traitor.”

Captain Laurence, who, to Sharpe’s annoyance, was obviously a proper gentleman betrayed no sign of having heard the remark, other than a slight tension around the mouth and said

“Major Sharpe, I presume.”

“That’s right.”

They contemplated each other in silence for a moment, before Captain Laurence continued.

“As I understand it the fort is rather heavily defended. We need you and your men to take out the guns before Temeraire can attack.”

“I think we can manage it,” Sharpe said sarcastically. “And what will your beast be doing, after me and my men have killed all the frogs?”

Captain Laurence’s mouth tightened even harder as he made a visible effort not to rise to the bait. 

“Your task is only to spike the guns, then Temeraire will ensure the French surrender.”

“We’ll see about that…”

“No, we will not see about that,” Laurence snapped. “Need I remind you, sir, that I have seniority here? You will follow my orders. Get your men ready, we leave at dawn.”

Captain Laurence turned and walked stiffly away.

Harper, who had been standing some paces behind Sharpe, stepped forward.

“He’s a prickly one, sir.”

“He sure is, Harper. He sure is.” 

“If I may ask,” Harper said, obviously trying to sound as casual as possible. “How do you think he means for us to get there?”

“What?” Sharpe said absently, still staring angrily at Captain Laurence’s retreating back.

“Do you think he means for us to fly, sir?” Harper said, giving up all attempts at indifference . “On the beast?”

Sharpe looked again at Captain Laurence’s retreating back. Of course he would make them fly. 

“Better bring your brandy, Harper.”

-

Laurence was overseeing the loading as Sharpe and his men finally showed up, late and some of them visibly drunk. They stopped abruptly as Temeraire turned his head to look curiously at them, hesitating until Sharpe noticed Laurence watching them and hastily walked up to him, trying not to look at the dragon. Laurence nodded curtly at Sharpe and said:

“We will be ready to leave in five minutes, have your men dispose of that bottle before boarding,” indicating a bottle of brandy the sergeant was holding.

“Well, you heard him, boys,” Sharpe said turning to his men, “dispose of that bottle.”

Laurence turned his attention to the preparations again, happy to turn his back on Sharpe and the 95th Rifles for another moment. He had always believed that men would take after their officers, which to him had meant that the responsibility of an officer was not only to lead the men in their duty, but also to set an example in propriety and discipline. From what he had learned of Sharpe on their first meeting, he was not surprised to see his men looking like a band of drunkards and ruffians. They were chosen men, Laurence knew, for their skills in marksmanship only, without regard to their background; which was in most cases dubious, but even such men could, under proper management, become good soldiers. Sharpe, however, seemed as unruly as his men. A couple of years ago, when he was still in the Navy, Laurence would have seen Sharpe’s behaviour as the natural consequence of raising men from the ranks, but six years in the Aerial Corps, where most officers were not gentlemen, had made him think differently.

“Sir…”

Laurence was called back to reality by Forthing, nervously telling him that all was ready for departure

“Except, well, Major Sharpe…”

Laurence turned to see Sharpe and his men sitting in various attitudes of relaxation on the ground, passing around a bottle of brandy.

“What is the meaning of this?” Laurence demanded, barely containing his anger.

Sharpe, who was lying on the ground, his head propped up against his bag, emptied the bottle and tossed it aside, before saluting Laurence lazily.

“We’re disposing of the bottle, as you ordered, Captain. And now,” he got to his feet, somewhat unsteadily, “we’re ready to ride the dragon.”


End file.
